Gray Clouds and Sun
by anedac
Summary: You always thought that he was an arrogant prat... At least, that was what you told yourself.


You always thought that he was an arrogant prat.

You saw the looks of disbelief that he gave you first year whenever you got a higher mark on an exam or paper. The looks that left no doubt in your mind that he thought he was better than you, that his pure blood should make him more talented than you. When you saw the final exam results, you watched his face fall as he saw that you had beaten him in every subject. You acted modest outwardly, but inside you were satisfied. He couldn't think that he was cleverer than you now, not when you could beat him so easily. You were smarter than him, this proved it.

At least, that was what you told yourself.

You weren't sure, and the feeling of doubt that had plagued you since the first time you saw his smirk when he learned about your parentage didn't go away. The insecurity was positive in some ways, as it made you more determined to beat him. But it also made you do things that you regretted deeply later.

Such as accusing him of buying his way onto the team, which resulted in the first use of that awful word. You knew that you really had no business insulting him; you weren't even involved in the conversation at all, and you really didn't know if he had bought his way on. But you were certain that you didn't deserve to be belittled with that one word. You had never heard it before, but the twist of his thin lips and the sneer in his voice left no doubt in your mind that what he had called you was something awful. Later, when Ron explained what it meant, it hurt much more than you cared to admit. But you didn't know why you cared what his opinion of you was. He was only a conceited, spoiled bully.

You didn't know why he mattered enough to hurt your feelings.

You also didn't understand the new feelings that surfaced around third year.

He had insulted Hagrid in the horrible rude way that seemed to be his specialty. You didn't know what came over you, but you couldn't stop yourself from hitting him. You immediately wished you hadn't. Even as you were hitting him you noticed his eyes, big and gray and surprised, and the sunlight shining off his hair. Even his skin felt soft as you slapped him. You watched in horror as his skin reddened on his cheek, and hurt cloud his eyes. You covered your embarrassment by reaching for your wand, and you were quite relieved when he left before anything else happened. You missed Charms that day because you were thinking about what a git he was, and not thinking about how his skin was so perfect and pale that even the slightest reddening showed up like a scar. You didn't think about how he looked in Potions or Arithmancy, trying to act like he didn't care, but obviously trying so hard it hurt to watch.

At least, that was what you told yourself.

He was simply an arrogant racist, after all. You pretended that your heart didn't flutter when you saw him watching the door to the Great Hall every morning at breakfast. You pretended that you didn't seek out and return the glances in the hallway.

He was simply an arrogant racist. He thought of you as a lesser being, not even human. He thought that he was much better than you were, just because of his blood. You didn't understand what was wrong with you, that you could feel anything but hate toward someone who wished you didn't exist.

You tried so hard to remember this fact during the Quidditch World Cup. When the masked Death Eaters began levitating Muggle families into the air, you left with Harry and Ron to take refuge in the forest. You saw him there, and though he was his usual arrogant and mean self you thought you detected worry in his voice. He tried to sound flippant about the danger you were in, but when you caught his eye you felt sure that he was trying to warn you. So you left with Ron and Harry, and forced yourself to remember that his father was probably who you were most in danger from. And he was just like his father.

At least, that was what you told yourself.

He hexed you your fourth year in school, but you knew it was an accident. As you held your hand over your mouth, trying desperately to hide your growing teeth you saw the apology in his eyes, but you were still hideously embarrassed when Snape insulted you, and all of the Slytherins including him laughed. You went to the hospital wing and hated him, while thanking him silently as you shrunk your teeth smaller than they had been.

You wondered what he would think of your teeth now.

At the Yule Ball you accepted a date with Viktor Krum, but the moment you entered the Hall you were looking for him. He came with Pansy Parkinson on his arm, but spent the whole night staring at you. You couldn't help but watch him sit at his table drinking butterbeer and watching you. And you noticed that the black velvet actually did look good with his skin and hair. When you slow danced with Viktor you made sure to watch him as much as possible, except when you closed your eyes and dreamed it was velvet, not regular cotton, that you were resting your cheek against. Ron's obvious jealousy angered yet flattered you, and a small part of you wished that it were him instead of Ron, accusing you of fraternizing with the enemy and liking you so much.

The train ride home was a nightmare, and yet again you were reminded of why you should hate him, and still did. He came swaggering into the compartment, going on about You-Know-Who's return and how you were all on the losing side. When he began to have a go at Cedric Diggory, though, you lost control again and helped hex him. As you walked past him on the way out, you didn't feel like healing the hex marks on his face, and you certainly didn't feel like apologizing.

You spent the first few weeks of summer at home, but even after you joined the Weasleys and the Order at Grimmauld Place you couldn't help but think of him. You knew that it was hate that had you dreaming of the Yule Ball and being in his arms instead of Viktor's.

At least, that was what you told yourself.

On the train ride to Hogwarts in fifth year you took the first opportunity to get close to him, even just to yell at him and get rid of the resentment that had been building up inside of you all summer. He berated a first year, and you almost screamed at him, looking into his mocking face and wishing that you could see something other than contempt in his stormy eyes.

But you didn't think you would get your wish.

You had to patrol the hallways with him, and though neither of you said a word you could feel something between you. Something that was greater than the animosity, and even greater than the lust that you still didn't admit that you felt toward him. The storm outside the castle was nothing compared to the one in his eyes as you parted, and you had to bite back the urge to say something, anything, to let him know that you didn't hate him completely.

Your stupid urge to talk to him frightened you, so you spent the rest of the year ignoring him the best you could, though you could often feel his eyes on you in every class that you shared with him. You tried the best you could to pretend he didn't exist.

When you both took your O.W.L.s the old insecurity at your prowess at magic resurfaced, and you couldn't help remembering the way you felt when he assumed you were stupid because of your blood. You did your absolute best, especially in the exams you sat for with him, and glared at him spitefully as you left each test. He returned your glares with interest, and you still didn't know why you could like him at all.

You helped put his father in prison at the end of that year, and to your surprise an insult didn't even come your way. He concentrated on Harry instead, and you nearly cried when you say what the members of the D.A. had done to him, and then just left him stuffed in the luggage compartment. You didn't help him, but went home feeling guilty and wondering why he hadn't tried to do anything to you.

You received your O.W.L. grades that summer, and gloated at your perfect Oustandings in every subject, and knowing that there was no way that he could have beaten you. It seemed that he was wrong, that pure blood didn't make the wizard or witch.

His father escaped from prison sixth year, and though he looked happy when you say him in the halls there was a desperation in his face as well, as though he was trapped.

The killings of Muggles and the Muggle-born had started, and every time you heard about another death you felt irrational hatred towards him. He stood for everything that was going wrong in the wizarding world. You remembered Harry telling you about Lucius Malfoy taking the lead in Muggle torture, and you couldn't help but wonder how a boy raised by that man could ever end up as a decent person. You knew that you and your kind were the bane of his pureblooded existence, and you again wondered how you could love or even lust after someone who didn't consider you any better than an animal. There was no way that you could be with someone whose family supported the killing small children and families simply on the basis of their heritage.

To your professed dismay, but secret guilty delight, you were paired with him for almost every prefect duty. Professor McGonagall told you that you and he were most likely going to be Head Boy and Girl the next year. You moaned about this with Harry and Ron later, but in truth you weren't exactly displeased.

The two of you weren't giving each other the cold shoulder anymore.

It had started with the odd argument, mostly over the purity of blood or whether his father was a horrible person. Then it progressed to talk over schoolwork. You had never had much opportunity to talk about Arithmancy in depth, and you were delighted to find someone who shared your interests at last. Even though you suspected he was only humoring you, which didn't bother you as much as it should have.

Eventually, you informed him about S.P.E.W, and didn't give up when you saw his mouth twitch, or remembered the way that Lucius Malfoy had treated Dobby. He was different from his father, you were sure of it, and you suddenly wondered if that was what you found so attractive about this boy.

You were left wanting more after speaking to him, and would toss and turn all night analyzing everything he had said, every move he made, and every facial expression. You still didn't understand how he could be so full of hatred toward your race, and still want to speak to you, and maybe even fancy you. You began to wonder whether he had ever really thought out his dislike for the Muggle-born, or if he had just been regurgitating what he had heard at home. Your only hope was that you could prove him wrong about the Muggle-born, that you could show him that the stereotypes don't hold true. He was different from his father, from the Death Eaters, even from most Slytherins. You knew that he was intelligent, that he could work through the stereotypes and lies he had been told and find the truth. You were doing this for his own good, you told yourself, not for any selfish reason. You didn't want him to love you; you were simply trying to keep him from becoming another Death Eater working for the dark side.

At least, that was what you told yourself.

After sixth year you breathed a sigh of relief when he went home without being hexed into oblivion, and went to the Burrow with the Weasleys and Harry. You listened to their hatred toward Death Eaters and Slytherins in general, and Malfoys and Blacks in particular, and tried not to think about how close their arguments sounded to the reasons why Voldemort's supporters hated Muggles and Muggle-borns.

When your Head Girl badge arrived Mrs. Weasley acted like you were her own daughter, she was that proud, and you wondered what his mother said to him. You wondered if he felt proud of himself, and his he was thinking of you as much as you thought of him.

Ron asked you out in late June, and though you didn't feel quite the same way about him as he did to you accepted. You thought that if you dated a decent person and a good friend it would get rid of your infatuation with him.

You heartily regretted your stupid decision when he entered the train compartment like he did every year. He exchanged insults with Harry and Ron, and looked at you so much that even oblivious Ron noticed. When Ron's jealousy kicked in and he claimed you as his girlfriend in a loud voice, you watched the slow collapse of his face until you had to turn away before you started crying. But you were over him, and you fancied Ron now.

At least, that was what you told yourself.

The way he ignored you, and the cold clouds in his beautiful eyes nearly killed you, and you began to dread each duty that brought the both of you together. You tried to convince yourself that the unhappiness was because you hated him again, but you knew better.

You tried to commit yourself to Ron the best you could, and pretended that you didn't imagine soft blond locks where there was short red hair, or hard gray eyes where there were soft brown. When you held onto Ron you didn't imagine a shorter, thinner body holding you, and the black velvet didn't reoccur into your dreams. You didn't think about him pretending to be interested in your Arithmancy obsession, or the way he smiled just a little bit when you ranted about underrepresented house elves.

You couldn't do it though, and though you loved Ron dearly he just couldn't fulfill the need for passion in your life. You broke up with Ron in late April, saying you just didn't feel the same way, and answered quite truthfully when he asked if there was another guy. In truth, there wasn't, because you didn't know if he would still want you.

There was only one way to find out, and your next duty as Head Boy and Girl you led him to an empty classroom, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. You told him that you liked him, and tried to hide your delight as you saw the incredulous happy surprise light up his face, as his hair shined in the sun coming through the window. You took his hand, and thought about how innocent and happy he looked at this moment, and how he wasn't as cold and closed off as everyone liked to believe he was.

That was your last real contact for the next few days, but the glances you exchanged were as intimate as any touch or word could be. When he tried to sit next to you in Arithmancy, but his nerve failed him and he sat in the table next to yours you couldn't help but smile at his adorable shyness, and wonder how someone raised by such horrible parents could be such a beautiful person. You beat him at the final exams, and were surprised and a bit hurt at the quick anger in his eyes as he saw your marks. You didn't know what to think, and suddenly you didn't feel quite as certain about the relationship you were hoping to begin with him.

When term ended you decided to inquire casually of Harry and Ron of what they would think if you hypothetically started a relationship with him.

Harry laughed, thinking you were joking. He said that Lucius Malfoy was one of the worst of the Death Eaters, and the both Narcissa and Bellatrix Black were responsible for Sirius's death. He said he couldn't understand why anybody respectable would go near anyone who was the direct descendant of the two worst wizarding families.

Ron just looked at you with hurt in his eyes, and you knew that he understood that this was no hypothetical situation. He said that he would love you anyway, and he would want you to be happy. This seemed strange for Ron, and when you shot him a knowing look he gave you a wounded grin and said that actually he would probably beat the hell out of him, just to make sure he would treat you right.

You went to say goodbye to him before your last ride on the Hogwarts express. He was going to get a flat in London, and try to get a job. You nearly cried to see the pain in his eyes, and when he began talking you understood why he was hurting so badly.

He said that he was too confused to be with you, and that he wasn't sure what he believed. His voice was emotionless, and his face like a mask, and you would have thought that he didn't care if it weren't for the agony in his eyes.

You said you understood, and it was the pain in those gray eyes that made you positive you were right when you told him that you two would be together eventually. He laughed, a bitter, quick chuckle that died almost the moment it escaped his lips, and told you that you were probably wrong. You said nothing in answer to that, and certain as you were that this wasn't the end you had to force back your tears as you gave him a quick kiss and left.

That summer at the Weasley's you joined the Order, and you usually got stuck with the researching that put you out of harm's way and in a library. This gave you more time than you wanted to think about him and how you so desperately wanted to be with him more and more. You also thought about Ron and Harry, but mostly Ron, and how badly it could hurt them both. You were stuck between two choices, but as the summer dragged on you began to realize that the only choice that you would be able to live with was obvious.

You would casually ask Mr. Weasley about how Lucius Malfoy's son was doing, and listen with a sinking heart as he gleefully expounded on the lack of jobs and friends the son of his worst enemy was experiencing. You would smile, and it didn't hurt to think about how unhappy he must be.

At least, that was what you told yourself.

On day in early September you couldn't stand it anymore, and you knew that you needed to go to him. You loved him, you knew, and you were certain he loved you. When you showed up at his doorstep, and entered his flat and went to the balcony, you couldn't stop yourself from jumping into his arms and kissing his pale and soft cheek.

You told him matter-of-factly that you were sure that he had enough time to think, and that you knew what he had decided. He asked what that was, with a smile in his eyes and the sun making a brilliant halo on his blond hair. You pulled him close to you, relishing the feel of his hard muscles and pumping heart against your chest, and told him that he knew.

He smiled, and you had a feeling he had known all along.

He had always been an arrogant prat.

At least, that was what you told yourself.


End file.
